


His Captain's Keeper

by Winterstar



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stony - Freeform, Superboyfriends, hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to his upbringing during the Great Depression, Steve never eats until he's full. The other Avengers notice and take matters into their own hands, including his super boyfriend, Tony. Along the way, there’s a bit of a battle, a lot of eating, a contest, a bit of hurt!Clint, and a lot of Stony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Captain's Keeper

**Author's Note:**

> Answers the prompt at avengerskink.
> 
> Don't know if I hit everything and I have no idea if the OP really wanted explicit rating - so sorry if you didn't want that!

He's not sure when it all started. No, that's actually a lie; he knows precisely when it all started. It happens that kissing his captain after said captain nearly falls to his death and Tony catches him just in time, only to have him go completely limp in his arms due to all the injuries sustained during the latest and greatest battle – well, a kiss like that kind of caught the attention of his team mates. Luckily for him, he restrained himself long enough to only leap at his captain once they'd revived him on the Helicarrier and all were assured he would survive - not fit as a fiddle (and what the hell is that supposed to mean anyhow) but at least functioning with all strings attached. 

Said captain surprisingly accepted Tony's offered kiss with his hands perched in the air and a startled huff afterwards. He didn't push him away, just quirked those furrowed brows at him like he was trying to figure out some complex strategy. After that they slid into a relationship in varying degrees of hotness, and his captain could be very hot indeed. Tony had a tendency to call Steve, Captain, but now he called him 'my Captain'. The others on the team grinned at him like they were in high school. He became proficient at throwing his shoes at their heads and whacking them into tomorrow. All, except Natasha, of course, he likes his penis and wants to keep it exactly where it belongs. He smirks - in his Captain. 

Bruce looks up at him when he giggles at bit at his own joke. Currently, they are running tests on alien software and isn't that just loaded with fun. Tony has JARVIS run another simulation which has nothing to do with the alien technology and everything to do with stealth Iron Man. Bruce shakes his head and continues analyzing their latest data on the software. He does not like what he's seeing, that much Tony can tell. He'll never confess to Bruce, but anytime he gets a little intellectually frustrated his cheeks blush green - which is kind of cute in a Vulcan kind of way. He laughs again and Bruce grumbles at him.

JARVIS interrupts their silent communication. "Sir, Captain Rogers asked me to remind you and Doctor Banner that the team dinner planned for tonight is in fifteen minutes. He asks that this time you please wash your hands."

Bruce laughs at him. Tony refrains from throwing his shoe at his big old head. He decides he's not going to the team dinner; let that be the captain's lesson. When Bruce stands where, hands half in his pockets waiting for Tony, he looks up and waves him away.

"Are you coming?"

"Nope," Tony says and hits a few keys just to emphasize his point. 

"You should come," Bruce comments.

"I should also finish this study. I also need to go to California, and sit down with the damned board of directors, oh, and don't forget the fact that I need to go over the War Machine and fix it since Rhodey took that spill." He doesn't look up at Bruce; he wants him to go away.

"You need to come." Bruce is like a tree, he never understands when people tell him to go away. He just stands there, unmoving, and unmovable.

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes, you are."

Tony frowns and looks up at Bruce. There's a certain focused stare that Bruce does when he's trying to make a point but he's not stating it outright. Tony sighs and tosses the tool aside. "I'm hungry?"

"Yes, very." Bruce waits.

"This happening a lot?"

"I don't know, I just kind of noticed. I think you should eat, with us."

"With us?" Tony gauges how Bruce responds and when he shifts his eyes for only a second to look at the Captain's shield, something twists in Tony's gut. It is sitting in the corner of Tony's workshop so that he can buff it up and clean up some scratches on it. He'll also do some unscheduled tests on it, but hell that never hurt anyone - intentionally. 

He picks up a rag from the workbench and wipes his hands off. When Bruce raises an eyebrow at him, Tony grunts, "That's as good as it gets, he wants my hands washed, he'll have to come down here and do it himself." He snickers at that little innuendo. 

"Oh please, God, no," Bruce says and crosses the laboratory to the elevator. Tony trails and lingers in his mind on what Bruce just said. Has he missed something so obvious? 

Has his captain not been eating? Is he sick? His captain doesn't get sick, everyone knows that. Sure he gets thunked on the head, beat up, bruised, stabbed, skewered, shot, nearly drown, and yes, frozen, but he doesn't get sick. That does not happen - at all. What the hell? Why would he be hungry? He's about to ask Bruce when he realizes they've already made the trip up to the penthouse and are exiting the elevator.

The whole team is gathered around the table in the dining area of the penthouse. They don't do group dinners often, but the good captain insists that once a month they all come together for a group ‘feel good’ session. Okay, he didn't call it that, but since the whole Shawarma deal, Steve has it in his head they should eat together once a month without the impending doom of having to go out and clean up a mess left by alien or other invaders. Plus, it is kind of fun. They take turns cooking (Tony usually orders in).  
This time, it was his captain's turn at culinary delights. Usually the good captain stays with very normal, very American food stuffs and menus. This time is no different. Pot roast from a crockpot that's been simmering all day with onions, mushrooms, potatoes, carrots, and a lovely gravy, that Tony's almost sure has a touch of beer in it, is the main course. He also prepared salad and hot rolls. He's done everything from scratch because he hates the prepared stuff. It tastes like cardboard according to him. Tony shrugs as he sits down. 

The captain serves everyone. He gives great heaping to Thor, who is visiting from Asgard, a good amount to Bruce because it has only been a day since the last time he transformed and he's usually ravenous for a few days after - the other guy burns a lot of juice. He offers moderate portions to everyone else. Tony watches and realizes that the amount the captain dishes out for himself is about the same as he gave to Tony or Clint. Bruce makes a point of looking at Tony and then sliding his eyes to the captain's dish. With a metabolism speeding through fuel at four times the normal rate, that’s just not right.

The Captain is in a discussion with Thor about the hammer and whether or not it is a magical device or some kind of Asgardian technology in reality. 

"You humans cannot appreciate the nuances of magic, that is why you are not capable to wielding it," Thor says and smacks Steve on the back.

"Wielding Mjolnir or magic?" Natasha asks as she picks up the basket of rolls, deposits one on Steve's plate, doesn't take one herself and then passes it to Tony. 

His captain murmurs a thank you to Natasha who never really looks directly at Tony but gives him a sidelong glance. The captain eats slowly, purposefully. He takes his time as if he’s savoring every taste, every bite. It occurs to Tony that a kid from the Great Depression might be a little freaky about food. Is that it? Or does it have something to do with his wild metabolism?

Dinner moves on with the debate escalating to Thor challenging anyone to try and wield Mjolnir. He thunks the great hammer down in the middle of the table like its Excalibur embedded in the stone and calls for anyone to move it. Tony glares at him, does he just keep that thing tied to his waist or something? The guy isn't even dressed up in his costume; he's wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He must be expecting Jane or something. 

Clint gets up and yanks at the thing. It doesn't move. A chant breaks out with each of the Avengers names being called upon to try and remove the hammer from its new place as the centerpiece of the table. Everyone is pounding on the table to the rhythm of the chant. Meanwhile, Bruce fills up his Captain's plate with salad and adds another roll. When Steve looks down and sees the food, he doesn't say anything just frowns a little but continues to eat.

The chanting and singing continues as they goaded Bruce into trying his hand at the hammer. He pulls at it, half-heartedly Tony thinks, but he gives up far too soon and staggers back like he's exhausted from his trial. Everyone hoots at him and he colors toward the verdant side of things before he abashedly puts his head down and chows down on some pot roast. 

With every glance to his captain, Tony observes his smile, his bright eyes as they flicker over his team mates. He sees the blissful joy of a man who has found a family. Nothing seems remiss, but there is something. Something he doesn’t quite understand, yet. 

Just then, Natasha swipes away her plate and decides it’s within decorum to stand on the table and grab the thing. Clint pounds on the table along with Thor as they urge her onward. She can't move it an inch but she isn't about to stop trying. As she's at it, she tumbles a bit, but also happens to take what's left of the potatoes in the serving bowl, move them onto the Captain's plate and yank again. He forks one and continues to slap his thigh with the other hand. When she jumps down she gives Bruce a quick wink and a meaningful look at Tony. He's not sure if that means what he thinks it means, or if she's conceding the effort to remove the magical hammer from its new spot on his dining room table.

He rubs his hands together and stands up, giving a glance to Steve. He looks satisfied and happy, maybe even a little tired. Tony smiles at him and grasps the handle of Mjolnir. It feels like he's trying to move the Earth, like he's taken a hold of gravity and attempting to shift it. He feels the vibration of it, humming through his hand and up his arm. It spikes as he heaves, but it doesn't move. It feels frozen and thick like he's playing tug of war with a tiger or a more aptly like he's being consumed by a pit, a gravity well. He snaps his hand away and hisses at it.

Clint slaps Steve on the back and yells, "We leave it to our great leader to move the hammer, less we all be duped by some guy in a cape."

"Capes are not a good thing to have," Bruce says as they all turn to look at him. "Just watch The Incredibles."

"Works for Superman," Tony comments.

"Did you see the last Superman, at one point his cape gets caught in something or another - definitely a powerful vulnerability."

"I think that's an oxymoron," Tony replies.

"Are we going to get this thing off the table or not?" Clint chimes in and crosses his arms. Obviously, he does not appreciate that fact that science brothers engage in enlightened conversations. 

Tony turns to Steve. He offers him the hammer. "My captain."

"If no one else can move it, I'm sure-."

"Try it, you just don't want to be embarrassed," Tony chides.

Steve rolls his eyes at Tony and stands up. As he does, Tony notices his plate is clean. "Maybe after, we'll have dessert to commiserate on our defe-."

He stops dead. The room falls silent. Steve holds Mjolnir in his fist and looks at them before he says, "Very funny. Good one, how long have you been planning this one?"

He dumps the hammer on the floor next to Thor. No one speaks and it takes a moment for Tony to process what just happened to what Steve just said. 

"Um, no?"

"No, what?" Steve says as he stands up and starts to clear the table. As he rounds the table, the hammer he placed on the floor is in the way. He lifts it and hands it to Thor. "Can you please get this out of the way?"

"You can wield Mjolnir?"

"Yes, who can't?" Steve says as he stacks the plates he's already scraped. Everyone at the table except for Thor lifts their hand. Steve chuckles. "Okay, guys that's fine, that's funny. I get it. Steve's gullible, doesn't get the modern world, or modern sarcasm. I get it." He leaves the room.

Tony surveys all of their faces. He sees shock from Thor and Bruce, a bit of envy from Clint, and what can only be pride from Natasha. Because of the whole hammer thing, the more subtle reason he'd come to dinner gets brushed aside and doesn't come up again until the next big battle.

The battle is horrific and, by the end of the three days they spend beating down something called from some other dimension, they all stagger home in a kind of fugue. No one actually knows what to do. Tony is missing one of the arms to his Iron Man armor and a good portion of the chest plating. Thor's cape is gone; it seems like Bruce was right about the whole cape thing and they should probably all watch _The Incredibles_ because it obviously has some good advice for superheroing. Natasha actually doesn't look too bad but she has her hair in a ponytail (which she never does because it is a liability) and she keeps popping her bubble gum. He's never seen her chew gum before and suspects she's doing it to get the nervous anxiety out, kind of like keeping a small leak going to make sure the sink doesn't overflow. 

Bruce keeps making these little noises that remind Tony of a baby cow - calf. He scrubs his hands through his hair repeatedly and snarls at anyone who even touches him, or any of the team. It took placing him in solitary for the team to get their post-mission physicals. The other guy was out and about for three days straight and, if it hadn't been for him, the whole lot of them might have been sucked back into the hell dimension. Even demons, evidently, have their limits and a Hulk is one of them. It took its toll on Bruce though and he definitely needs some down time and meditation. 

Clint doesn't even get to come back with them to the Tower. His shoulder is torn up and he's been benched for the better part of three months. He's undergoing surgery in the morning and no one will speak of it because they all know what it means to an archer. His shoulders, his upper body strength, are his life. Steve stayed with him until Tony literally dragged his exhausted butt out of the medical bay. Forcing him to return home, Tony hauled him into the SUV and promised him they would return in the morning. Steve only surrendered when Tony acquiesced to returning once the team had time to change and eat. 

They all disappear onto their respective floors. Tony goes to check on Bruce while his captain showers. Bruce nods to Tony and says he'll be fine. It was just a shock to his system to release his hold for so long. Before Tony leaves, Bruce catches him and says, "Make sure he eats enough."

"Hmm?" Tony peers over his shoulder still continuing down the hallway.

"Steve, make sure he eats enough."

Tony halts and turns around. "Eat enough?"

"Yeah, as I was the other guy I can't be sure, but I don't think he ate enough the entire time we were gone."

Tony stops and stares at Bruce. “Okay.” 

Bruce nods again and slowly closes the door, as if he’s ensuring that Tony is going to leave and do as he requested. He ends up back in his suite of rooms listening to his captain shower, all the while worrying the words he’s heard the last few weeks. Is there a problem with Steve? Is he sick? This just doesn’t connect together, and Tony doesn’t like when things aren’t rational, or logical. 

As he’s about to query about it, JARVIS interrupts his thoughts. “Sir, there’s a call on the line from Director Fury.”

“Put him through,” Tony says and eases against the head board of the bed. 

“Captain?”

“Nope, just little ol’ me.”

“Where’s Captain Rogers?” Fury asks.

“Washing his hot little ass, what do you want with him?” Stark says. His shoulders ache, every breath aches. They really all need down time. The thought of getting back in his car and driving to SHIELD HQ is just draining him.

Fury growls over the phone. No shit, he sounds like a pit bull or something. “Tell Captain Rogers no need to come down. Agent Barton will be out of it for the rest of the night and his surgery is scheduled for eleven tomorrow morning.”

“Oh thank God.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I’ll tell him.”

“And Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“Get some rest,” Fury says and switches off before Tony can think of an adequate punchy reply. 

In minutes following the phone call, Steve stumbles into the bedroom looking bone weary even though he’s just completed his shower. His hair is dripping wet and the towel slung low on his hips is about to fall off. Tony raises his hand and reaches out to Steve.

“No need to rush,” Tony says. “Fury called. Barton is going to be out of it the rest of the night and his surgery is scheduled for tomorrow at eleven.”

Steve clasps Tony’s hand but doesn’t move toward the bed. He looks behind him toward the door. “I should still go, sit with him if he wakes. He needs to know he’s not alone.”

“You’re tired, I’m tired. We all need sleep,” Tony says and realizes he cannot remember the last time he slept. “Sleep first?”

Steve slumps his shoulders and with the small motion his towel slips off and falls to the floor. Tony scans his body, it is fine and sculpted and perfectly proportioned. There is no fat on his body, no insulation at all. Nothing to lose, no reserves.

“Sleep sounds good,” Steve says and crawls into bed next to Tony.

“Maybe eat first is a better idea?” Tony whispers as Steve settles beside him. Tony is still sitting, but Steve curls his body around him and tucks his hands under the pillow. 

“No, sleep,” Steve murmurs.

Tony threads his fingers through Steve’s hair, massaging it, feeling the scratch of the weapon that left a mark on the side of his temple. It’ll be gone in the morning, but still watching his Captain bleed so profusely as he screamed out orders to them had been more than terrifying, it had been all out petrifying. 

Before Tony can mention food again, he hears the gentle breath of Steve as he falls into slumber. He decides to let it rest for now, and doesn’t know another thing until he wakes in the morning to find the other side of the bed empty and that he stinks from the battle still. 

He wrinkles his nose. Christ, how could Steve stand being in the same room, let alone the same bed with him last night? He stumbles to the bathroom and shucks his clothes, leaving them where he dumps them. Standing in the hot steam of the shower’s cascade, he feels the pounding water and it reminds him of the pounding of his team mates as they all tried to lift the damned hammer off the table all those days ago. 

That thought circles him back to Steve and his eating habits. Does he eat enough? Why is Bruce concerned? And Natasha, she actually made sure Steve ate an extra helping of potatoes. Shit, he really needs to talk to Bruce now and find out what the hell is going on. 

He finishes up and towels off. Rummaging through his drawers, he frowns a bit when he realizes so many of his t-shirts are black. What is he, morose? He has no reason but to be maudlin or morose – he has the hottest guy around in his bed and a brilliant mind, plus lots of money. What’s to be depressed about?

For some reason, he thinks of Steve eating. Slowly, purposefully. During their Shawarma evening, he even noted then how very slowly Steve ate, but he’d thought it was because everyone was shitfaced tired and not in a good shitfaced way. At least, not that he knew of. 

By the time his brain whizzed off several more scenarios of Steve and his odd eating habits, Tony walks into the penthouse kitchen to find Steve standing by the glass cooktop, flipping pancakes and taking bacon off the griddle.

“You’re up,” Steve says. “You can join us.”

Natasha walks in and her eyes look bleary – which is all kinds of weird because the master assassin never looks tired or weary. 

“Rough night?” He follows her out to the dining area of the kitchen. 

“Can it, Stark,” Natasha says and rubs at her eyes.

Tony presses his lips together but doesn’t say anything, only goes back into the kitchen to watch his hot man cook. 

“Be nice, Tony,” his captain says.

“Me? I’m always nice.”

“She’s worried and you don’t have to bring it up,” his captain says as he dishes out the plates. “Leave it be.”

“When’s Clint’s surgery again?”

“Eleven.” He completes his task and hands a dish to Tony. “Please, give that to Natasha.” It has three pancakes and two strips of bacon plus some fruit on the plate. Nice.

When Steve joins them he’s carrying two plates. One he places in front of Tony, while the other he puts down on the table for himself. There is no difference between the two plates. Four pancakes and three strips of bacon with a small side of fruit. 

“Huh,” Tony says.

“What’s that?” Steve asks as he sits down and places his napkin on his lap.

“Hmm, just getting coffee.” He returns to the kitchen and pours himself a cup, then takes the entire plate of bacon and pancakes, balancing them is no small feat, and brings them into the dining area. “Thought maybe for seconds, we wouldn’t have to go back and forth.”

Steve shrugs and just starts to eat with that maddeningly slow chewing and taking care to taste everything on his plate. Tony watches as they discuss Clint, his surgery, and the fact that Bruce is still meditating. He slips a few extra slices of bacon onto Steve’s plate. As Natasha comments on the surgery, she reaches over and forks a pancake and it conveniently slips onto Steve’s plate.

“Oh sorry,” she says and when he goes to give it back to her, she shakes her head. “You just go ahead.” 

“By the by, I need your phone,” Tony says to Steve.

“Why?” he says around a mouthful.

“I need to run some updates. I can get it back to you after the surgery.”

“You’re not coming?” Steve frowns at him; apparently sitting vigil is a team thing. Who knew?

“I can get more done here, and then I’ll come once he’s out.”

“Seems logical,” Natasha says and that’s his free pass because once she’s given her okay, Steve’s ruffled feathers smooth out. 

He yanks his phone out of his back pocket and slides it over to Tony. “Can you check the battery too? It keeps running down.”

“If you didn’t run tumblr and facebook all day, that wouldn’t happen.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Steve replies.

As Tony dumps the rest of his fruit onto Steve’s plate, he says, “Sure you don’t. Social media is just all kinds of confusing to Captain Underpants.”

“Under-.” Steve sighs in that way that shows Tony he’s a little irritated and a lot amused. “Are we now under twelve?”

“See you get modern references,” Tony slaps him on the arm. “That’s my man.” He grabs the phone, stands up, kisses his captain’s cheek, and then says, “Keep me updated on the bird man; I will be down in the lab.”

“Bye Tony,” Steve calls.

“Love you.”

“You, too.”

Tony disappears down into his lab for the better part of the day. Bruce appears for a short period of time, but then leaves to go to SHIELD HQ to get updates on Clint’s progress. Tony has a running live feed from the operating room that he hacked, so he doesn’t need to race down there to know how far they’ve proceeded through the complicated surgery. 

He spends the day working on Steve’s phone, searching through the maps of SHIELD for all and any sources of food, and coordinates it to the phone, linking it to GPS and then a feed back to JARVIS.

“I also want all Steve’s favorite places to stop for something to eat,” Tony states.

“Sir, I can extrapolate based on his wi-fi access at food establishments as well as triangulate any access points through his 4G network.”

“Do it,” Tony says. “I want to know everything this guy eats.” 

“Your quest to know your boyfriend better is truly inspiring.”

“Don’t get sassy, JARVIS.” 

“I would never try to compete with the master, sir.”

Tony scoffs at him and shakes his head. “You, my friend, have perfected wit to a fine art.”

“Thank you, sir.”

After a half hour, JARVIS announces his analysis is complete and Tony puts the finishes touches on the new software for Steve’s phone. It will track him and alert Tony regarding any times he comes close to food sources. When that occurs Tony will be able to access public and some private sources to find out what the good captain is eating during the day.

“Sir, I have been informed that Agent Barton has been moved to recovery.”

“Status?”

“The doctors at SHIELD are reporting success, sir.”

“Great for the Hawk.”

He closes up for the day and decides now would be a good time to make an appearance at SHIELD. The news is better than they’d hoped and, while Clint will be out of the game for a while, he will definitely be a major player after an enforced three month respite.

In the next days, Tony splits his time watching Steve at various points of food establishments around the city and SHIELD. One day he barges in on Steve and Clint having lunch at Clint’s base quarters. He’d been released the day prior but only to his quarters with a probable real release date sometime in the next few days. When Tony sees Steve’s plate and combines that with the data he’s accumulated over the last few days, he’s about ready to blow a fuse.

What the hell is a man with a metabolism working at four times the norm doing eating the normal amount? Sure, he snacks during the day, but, crap, can he ever really be full. In a surprise move, even to himself, Tony clamps his mouth shut and just glowers at Steve. Steve gives him a surprised look and continues his pigeon like luncheon with Clint.

Tony is not amused.

But he does make a plan. 

He cackles a bit to himself as he rubs his hands together after he’s made it home to the penthouse. 

He sets his plan in motion. Everyone is in on it. Everyone disappears from the Tower that day – along with ALL OF THE FOOD. They sweep it clean, Tony even has Dum-E help. No one stick of cheese, cup of yogurt, bag of Cheetos exists. Nothing. Tony even ransacks Steve’s rooms – though he rarely stays in them anymore. Steve will completely, one hundred percent rely on Tony for food this weekend.

Everything is in place by the time Steve ambles through the doors at eight-thirty eight in the evening. Whereupon Tony promptly attacks him. As Steve enters the penthouse and finds his way to the kitchen, Tony blocks his way and cups his face, kissing him thoroughly and completely.

Breaking for air, Steve says, “Tony, I-.”

“No, don’t – just come with me.”

“I thought I’d get something to-.”

“No need, no need, you’re a big boy, you don’t need anything to eat,” Tony says and tows him by the hand to their large master suite in the Tower. “I’ve been waiting to do this all day, baby.”

He closes the door behind them, pushes Steve up against the door, and rips open Steve’s shirt.

“Hey. I liked that shirt.”

“I like what’s underneath better,” Tony says and pushes up the t-shirt to nibble at Steve’s nipples. 

Steve hitches and arches up as Tony flicks his tongue and catches his teeth a bit on Steve’s nipple. It’s always been a wonder how sensitive Steve’s flesh is. 

“Tony, I-.” But his protest dies on his lips as Tony grapples with his zipper and shoves his pants down. He pushes his boxers aside and glances up at Steve. “Tony.”

Tony licks the head of his erection. He whines in response and looks up to the ceiling as if in some unholy prayer as Tony goes down on him. Tony swirls his tongue first, then sucks, and finally finds the thick vein to tantalize it as well. His hands glide up and under Steve sac and caresses and seeks until he plays with the pucker of Steve’s entrance.

“Tony, I’m-.”

Steve never could hold out for a proper blow job and he comes in a great flood into Tony’s mouth. He drinks down what he can and spits out the rest. “Get your pants off, my captain, I need a little bit more of you tonight.”

Protests gone, Steve throws the rest of his clothes to the side as Tony disrobes as well. Tony hauls Steve to the bed and pushes him flat onto it. He lies over Steve, and then dives in at his pulse point on his throat. 

“What’s gotten into you,” Steve say, breathless. They usually are two combatants in bed with each of them vying for dominance, each giving and taking, but tonight Tony has plans, tonight Tony is taking. 

“I’m just so hungry for you,” Tony says and licks a stripe down the center of Steve’s chest to his navel. 

“Honestly, did you just say what I think you did?” But he can’t ask any more questions because Tony laps at his cock and then takes his balls into his mouth. 

“Holy-.”

Tony pauses. “Oh yes, very much so,” Tony murmurs as he pushes open Steve’s legs, leaves him wanton and hungry for it as he glides his tongue along his sac and further back to tease. He lifts up his head and says, “You want more? Do you?”

“Oh, god, yes, please yes.” He’s hard again, oh the wonders of Erskine’s serum! 

Tony reaches to underneath a pillow where he’s stowed the lube and condoms. “Tell me you’re hungry for it, tell me how much.”

“I’m hungry, Tony, please, why are you doing this. I just want you in me.”

Tony wags a finger at him. “Tell me.” Tony licks up the inside of his thigh and then down to his sac again.

“I’m hungry, I want you in me, I’m starving, Tony, please.” He can’t be more shameless as he spreads his legs wide and his cock leaks all over his belly, dripping to his navel. 

As Tony lubes the condom he put on he leans down and tastes the pre-come. Steve shivers like he’s been shot through with an ice pick. 

“Please, Tony, please.”

Tony leans over him, a lubed finger plunging in and out, in and out. “There you go, tell me how hungry you are.”

“I’m starving, so hungry, so much,” Steve says and thrusts onto his finger a bit.

He pushes two fingers in and begins a rhythm as he finds the little nub, the prostate, the sweet spot. “You don’t seem that hungry.”

“I am, I’m so hungry, I want, please,” Steve says and physically grabs Tony, causing him to shove his fingers in deeper. Steve groans in response. 

Tony leans over, his lips near Steve’s ear. “Tell me how hungry and I’ll give it to you, just tell me.”

“So hungry like I’m starving for food. Like I can’t survive without it, like when I was a little kid and there wasn’t anything to eat for days and days and I would find a crust of bread in the next door neighbor’s garbage and eat that. I’m that hungry for you, I’m-.”

Tony stops, frozen over Steve. He slips his fingers gently out of Steve and gazes down at his face, heated and blissed out and needy. He cradles Steve’s face in his hands while he straddles his hips. 

“Steve,” he whispers.

His captain blinks and looks up at him, realizing there’s something wrong, knowing he’s said, something that’s ruined the moment.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-.”

“You were that hungry? You were hungry enough to eat out of the garbage?” Tony says and swallows down hard. Sure, he had an old man who was a fool and a drunk, but Christ he always had enough food, always.

Steve looks to the side and then back at Tony. “You weren’t supposed to find out. Can you, can you just forget I said it?”

Tony shakes his head. It all fits into place. Steve has never had enough, appreciates the food he gets and is never a glutton because he knows he has to save food for another day. He’s survived days when there hadn’t been any food. He eats slowly to enjoy it as if it is his last meal. He takes when he needs but never goes beyond that because he’s Captain fucking America and he’ll always sacrifice his own needs for others – and, just in case there isn’t enough, he’ll always save enough for others.

“You never eat until you’re full, you always save some portion.”

Steve doesn’t reply. His silence is painful.

“You need to eat enough, Steve, you need to eat more. You need to feel free to eat,” Tony says and kisses his temples, his eyes, his mouth. “Promise me, you’ll eat?”

“How can I when there’s so much poverty in the world that I know there are kids out there that have it worse off than I did?” Steve says.

“Because, if you get sick, if you can’t do your job as Captain America, who will?” Tony replies and touches his lips to his captain’s mouth again. “Who will? Promise me.”

After only a moment, Steve says, “I promise.”

Tony shifts as he kisses Steve, he moves until he’s within the cradle of Steve’s pelvis. He lines up his dick and, with a searching hand, shoves into his ass. It isn’t wanting and needy anymore. Instead, he rocks into Steve with a slow wave of motion, with a gentle building of strength, with an increase of force with every thrust forward. He gives and gives and gives until he’s falling down, until he’s ruined and broken, until what he has is Steve’s and what he is is his captain’s. 

His captain responds with a measured arch, a moan which laces the air like a sob, a tightening of his hands clasped to Tony’s arms is like an anchor to the world itself. He plummets like a great rush under Tony, spilling and writhing as if he drops from a great height, from a cliff with no land below it. Spilling, coming, falling until Tony follows and the room around them blanks out and only this, this monumental feeling rushing forth overtakes him and he’s collapsing, spent and taken, given and received.

He murmurs love and doesn’t hear the answer but already knows it.

When they come back to the room, when he follows the line of Steve’s jaw with light kisses and licks of his tongue, he settles against the broad chest, the thickly muscled man. 

“Wait here,” he whispers and gathers up a robe and hustles out the door. In moments, he returns with a cart. He’d planned it all out. A meal, and more for Steve, for his captain.

As Steve shuffles up on his elbows to see what Tony’s brought into the room, he smiles and tells him to lie back. 

With a pile of pillows behind him, a thick blanket across his lap, Tony brings the food laden tray over. He picks up the strawberry, dips it into the melted chocolate and offers it to Steve. 

“Eat,” Tony says.

“Hmm,” Steve says and lifts his hand to take the three pronged fork.

Moving the fork away, Tony says, “No.”

Steve opens his mouth, but nods, and leans forward. Tony feeds him. 

“This, my love, is fondue, but it’s even better. It’s chocolate,” Tony says and quirks an eyebrow.

Steve bites into the chocolate coated strawberry, and the warm chocolate streams down his chin while the juice reddens his lips. Tony bends forward and licks up the chocolate stain.

“I think I’m going to like feeding you.”

“I think I’m going to like being fed,” Steve says with barely any sound at all.

“Then by all means, let’s fill you up.” Tony smiles and Steve returns it in kind.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for spending part of your day with me. Kudos to you!
> 
> If you'd like updates on my writing go to [tumblr](http://winterstar95.tumblr.com). I also have a tendency to re-blog anything STONY. Or liberal. So be warned.


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